


But who could stay?

by KittsFics



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Pining, Pre-Relationship, beau being a big lesbian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:35:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28779141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittsFics/pseuds/KittsFics
Summary: Beau falls in love easily, or something she calls love anyway. As much as she tries to pretend otherwise, she gives tiny slivers of her heart away. It's always little things; a woman smiling at her in the street, or a barmaid sending her a wink and sliding a cup over anyway when she's a few coppers short, or a harried shopkeeper adding a little something to her purchase as Beau makes faces at her daughter, getting quiet giggles in return.But more recently she's found her eyes caught by her companions, drawn to little movements and gentle smiles, helpless to look away.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha, Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett
Kudos: 46





	But who could stay?

**Author's Note:**

> I am absolutely not anywhere near caught up on crit, but am loosely aware of what's been happening so this may be wildly be out of character as I'm working from memory alone. But this has been sitting in my drafts for months under the working title 'Beau has 2 Hands!!' and I thought I'd get it finished and posted. So here you go. 
> 
> I've been the archer, I've been the prey,   
> Who could ever leave me, darling?  
> But who could stay?  
> \- Archer (Taylor Swift)

Beau falls in love easily, or something she calls love anyway. As much as she tries to pretend otherwise, she gives tiny slivers of her heart away, often to strangers, but really, she never regrets any of them. She doesn't feel the loss, and besides hearts heal, and there's nothing wrong with more affection in the world. She knows what the lack feels like, and fought hard to get where she is now, even now and then when her confidence wavers, she gathers her strength to carry on. To try keep herself rough enough to protect those around her (and perhaps the centre of herself, the largest parts of her heart) but soft enough to make it all worth it after all. 

It's always little things; a woman smiling at her in the street, or a barmaid sending her a wink and sliding a cup over anyway when she's a few coppers short, or a harried shopkeeper adding a little something to her purchase as Beau makes faces at her daughter, getting quiet giggles in return.

But more recently she's found her eyes caught by her companions, drawn to little movements and gentle smiles, helpless to look away.

Jester's pen tapping against her lips, nose scrunched up as she struggles to find the words to describe what she wants to. Her wild laugh as she swings her tail lazily side to side, watching Frumpkin's eyes dilate as he gets ready to pounce. The innocent look on her face as she surreptitiously carves another dick into an unsuspecting table, half nodding along as Fjord talks. The enthusiastic gestures as she talks, the twirl of her skirts as she flits around a tavern, her restless movements just before she falls asleep and the steady reassuring breaths when she finally does.

Yasha's steady hands as she runs her whetstone along the edge of her sword, working out small nicks and sharpening it so it's ready to protect them all again. The way her eyes sometimes go soft and sad as she brushes her fingers along wildflowers, or picks them with impossible gentleness to be rehomed between pages of a book. The soft amused snorts, not meant to be heard, as she watches the rest of their group wake up in the morning as she keeps an eye on breakfast, absently rebraiding sections of her hair or fiddling with the edge of her shawl.

Most of all she loves watching them do their make up. Yasha, slow and careful, almost ritualistic, often humming as she glances at the closest reflective surface to check but mostly not needing one. Jester on the other hand is more energetic, and Beau often ends up holding the small mirror steady as she works, tongue peaking out as she outlines her eyes. She offers to do Beau's occasionally too and the closeness makes her breath catch, the feeling of phantom fingers holding her chin steady lingers through the day.

Beau can't deny she's always had a thing for hands.

Things start effecting her that really shouldn't. The strip of skin above Jester's waistband when she stretches out before bed, or the soft sound of her jewellery accompanying her laughter as she throws her head back. The flex of Yasha's forearms as she cooks, when she seems in her element around the campfire and Beau can't keep her eyes off her. Flashes of ink on their skin, delicate lines that dance when they move. 

But it's the contrast when they're together that truly takes her breath away. Jester's quick movements as she plaits Yasha's hair, pausing ever so often to wave to emphasize whatever she's talking about, as Yasha stays leaning against her legs, corners of her mouth unturned as she lazily turns pages in her book. Jester, bright and bouncy, keeping them all buoyed, in contrast to Yasha's steady grounding force. 

Jolted back to the present by a burst of laughter, she runs a hand through her hair, still damp from her dunk in the stream, eyes following one or other as they move around the camp, and a bundle of orange fur is dropped into her lap with a quiet meep. Absently burying her hands in his soft coat, she looks up to find Caleb watching her with a little sad smile. She's suddenly glad her skin is dark enough to hide her flush, even though she's doing nothing wrong. But if anyone does, she thinks he understands, this strange brother she's found. She saw the way he'd looked at Molly, and now Essek, half with hope and half with nervous fear. 

Her attention is caught again as Jester heads towards her, limping ever so slightly from the fight earlier, the group's magic almost run dry, not enough between them so spare for small injuries. And Beau knows that her dreams tonight will be full of fierce tieflings, purple eyes and sharp teeth glinting in the glow of giant magical candies, and whirling fighters, swords flashing and hair flying out as they desperately try to keep everyone safe.

Jester settles against her side, a warm and comforting weight, and Beau's arm comes up automatically to keep her there. After a moment, Yasha looks towards them, offering a gentle smile as she carefully sweeps her gaze over them, checking again for any injuries Beau assumes before Caduceus recalls her attention to the pan. 

Beau falls in love as easily as breathing, and that's never been a problem before because no one stayed long enough to get more than a few fragments of her heart; a look, a conversation, a night, a handful of days of she's lucky. But now she wonders how she'll deal with the loss. 

Then Jester will smile at her, fingers tangling as she tugs Beau along to show her something she's seen in a shop window that she just has to have. Or Yasha will lean over and tuck a flower behind her ear, knuckles brushing her cheek and making her breathing stutter. 

There are worse things after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat to me on my tumblr (also [ kittsfics ](https://kittsfics.tumblr.com/))!


End file.
